


Sometimes

by MolollyWrites



Category: Original Work
Genre: Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-09-27 21:15:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10050335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MolollyWrites/pseuds/MolollyWrites
Summary: Sometimes, Adam just needs a release, and nobody understands that better than Kayden.





	

Sometimes, he is broken. Crying, he curls in on himself and hides from the world that hurts him. All I can do is sit and hope he doesn’t reach for a blade again. 

Sometimes, he is angry. Burning, he screams about the life he was handed and the people who hurt him. All I can do is sit and hope he breaks pillows rather than bones. 

But sometimes, he is needy. Panting, he spreads himself and begs so sweetly for me to use him, hurt him. All I can do is oblige and hope to God I can help him without him knowing how much I love him like this. I’d never tell him, not when we’re like this, just how much I crave having him, wanton and willing, like putty in my hands - because this isn’t for me. After he’s cried, after he’s screamed, this is for him. 

So I go slowly at first, making sure he feels every inch when I hoist his knees over my shoulders and push in as deep as I can. I make sure he cries out as loud as he can before I lean forwards, covering his broken, scarred body with mine as I silence him with a kiss and finally speed up; hands gripping his ripped up wrists above his head so tight in my hands that we both know they’ll be bruised in the morning. 

But that’s how he wants it; he wants it to hurt, to burn in the morning. It’s how he reminds himself that he doesn’t break easily; it’s how he pushes away the static, the numbness, that takes over him on his worst days. So I try against every instinct I have to break him, to pry him apart with fingers and words and the sharpest thrusts I can manage. The difference in our heights, how small he is compared to me, never bothers him, so I try not to let it bother me as I plow into him hard and fast. 

I sense his need for breath before he does and pull away from kissing him to attack his neck. His moans echo in my ears, always, and I angle my hips deeper to make him louder. 

Sometimes, he can last for hours. Crying, he begs for more and more until he’s shredded and wasted and nothing more than a boneless pile beneath me that whimpers from the overstimulation and never-ending need. All I can do is continue until he asks me to stop because otherwise he’ll be crying for a totally different reason. 

Sometimes, he sets the pace. Burning, he moans out non-stop as he slams his hips down again and again, hoping for some semblance of a satisfying release that will make him feel whole and human and calm again. All I can do is wait and watch; getting off on equal parts watching him and feeling him tighten erratically around me as he tries to set a steady pace, and hope he’ll let me take his hips in a bruising hold and forcefully guide his hips up and down in a way that makes him scream for real. 

But sometimes, he’s too fast. Panting, he comes sooner than he wants to and digs his nails into my arms when I let his wrists go, demanding that I keep going until I finish too - until I wreck and ruin him completely, filling him up and reminding him that I can. When he gets like this, his eyes burn and his legs lock around me so I can’t refuse him. 

Not that I ever would. This is when his moans are the sweetest, his begging the neediest he can muster - even though I know he doesn’t do it on purpose. The overstimulation drives him crazy and has him crying before I even get close, but he promises in moan-broken whispers that he can take it; he can go one more time, and I trust that he knows his body better than I do. So I let go, releasing deep inside him as his legs lock and shake around me before he reaches his limit a second time. I never thought my own name would sound so close to a curse, but on his lips at a time like this it sounds strong and dark and full of lust. 

And then he’s weak, boneless, curled up as he pants and collects himself. 

Sometimes, it takes minutes. Sometimes, it takes longer. Gasping, he finds himself and reminds himself that he is strong. All I can do is wait, curled up behind him pressing kisses to the nape of his neck and hoping that this is enough to tide him over and keep his demons at bay for a little longer. 

Sometimes, it’s enough. 

But sometimes, it isn’t. 

**Author's Note:**

> Character Blog: <http://breaking-point-rp.tumblr.com>


End file.
